


Beasts and Bastards

by Tenebrae (Trotzkopf)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, the year is 1893
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23660281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Tenebrae
Summary: Arthur Morgan knows he’s going to burn in hell for the life he has lived and so will John Marston. So what difference does one more beautiful mistake make?
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 99





	Beasts and Bastards

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really want to ignore canon for these two. I just want them to be happy and in love.

“This way,” John whispers and pulls Arthur down the alley in between the General Store and the Saloon. Mud squelches under their boots as they suppress feral sniggers. Arthur’s jaw still aches from when he took the blow from the brute who had it in for John and wouldn’t take, ”No hard feelings, partner, let me buy you a drink,” for an answer right before everything went to shits.

They weave through the backyards, jumping fences until they find a dark enough corner to vanish in. They can hear the whinnying of agitated horses close by.

“Let’s get outta here!” John is about to step into the open when they hear, “Let’s search down here! Slippery bastards might’ve done a runner for the stables!”

Arthur makes a grab for him just in time, pushing Marston’s wiry frame into the wall and blocking him with his bulk from view. It’s an instinctive reaction: protect the pack member, Arthur tells himself, even as John growls and kicks him in the shin for his troubles.

“Cut the shit, Marston!” Arthur hisses and glares at the other.

“What the fuck, Morgan?”

“Shhh!” Arthur clamps his hand over John’s mouth and pushes him harder into the wood. If glares could kill, Arthur would have crumbled to dust right now. John’s eyes gleam with anger and hurt pride. Well, too bad. Arthur has grown rather attached to this life and would like to keep living it. And if that means he has to pin this pain in the arse in a dark alley, if only to keep them both from swaying in the breeze, so be it.

“You two to the stables, the others with me. We’re gonna get those bastards and if it’s the last thing we do!” A nasally voice proclaims before the sounds of boots on wooden planks die down.

“Lemme go, asshole!” John pushes against Arthur’s chest, but it’s a bit like trying to move a train engine by sheer willpower. “Damnit, why are you such a _beast_?” John complaints as he struggles.

“Why are you such a scrawny piece of shit?” Arthur chuckles as he leans in harder, using his extra 30 pounds to pin John like a butterfly to the wall. He kinda likes how it feels to have the bastard wriggle in his hold, completely at his mercy. He could do whatever he wants with him right here, right now, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing Marston could do about it. Maybe for once the damn fool would learn to do as he was told and quit getting into trouble, turning Arthur’s life upside down and allowing him to think of something other than, _“What the fuck has John gotten himself into this time?”_

What happens next shouldn’t come as a surprise and yet Arthur doesn’t expect how John suddenly grows limp in his grip, his whole body relaxing into the hold, his face is right there, hot breath caressing Arthur’s cheek. He even expects it less when the sensation sends a pleasant shudder down his spine. There is a tight feeling in his gut all of a sudden and that’s not the only thing getting tight right now.

He’s still holding Marston’s wrists, their bodies flush and chests still heaving from the chase while around them the world seems to fall away until there is nothing but the shadows and their warm bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace. They’re so close they’re breathing the same air. John’s chin tilts as Arthur angles his face, only to get a better look at Marston he tells himself and knows it’s a lie before he has finished the thought.

Arthur’s eyes glue themselves to John’s mouth as he watches the man lick his lips. Suddenly, Arthur’s throat is parched. A dying man in the desert with only one drop of blessed water in sight which is currently lingering on John Marston’s lips.

“Fuck!” It’s John who closes the gap between them. His lips moving against Arthur’s with practiced ease, taking unfair advantage when Arthur opens his mouth to ask a question, only to find Marston’s tongue tasting ever inch of him and isn’t he supposed to be the more experienced one he thinks before he groans and pulls John against him.

They break apart gasping for air. John’s hands are in his hair, already pulling him in again. He tastes like whiskey and terrible decisions and Arthur is already addicted to him.

“Morgan…” John’s voice is thick with lust.

“Yeah?”

“….I want…I _want_ …”

“I know, I know, ” Arthur mumbles and kisses him again a bit more desperate as he starts to pull John with him toward a door a few yards away. He knows he’s going to burn in hell for the life he has lived and so will John Marston. So what difference does one more beautiful mistake make? John’s whole body is shamelessly rutting against him by now, tempting, _begging_.

There is only so much a not particularly honourable man can take, especially not when he’s been thinking about John fucking Marston ever since that incident by the river a few months back. He still remembers the pounding of his heart when he pulled John out of that current and onto the muddy bank. _Not breathing._

There was not a soul in sight, just the water and the trees and the blue sky witnessed when Arthur sealed his lips to John’s, pushing life back into him until he spluttered and coughed up half the river. Arthur yelled at him for the rest of the afternoon after dragging him back to camp and bundling him up in every blanket they had before wrapping himself around the other’s body from behind until John stopped fighting and relaxed into his arms.

It felt so damn good. Like something was finally going right in this world. They had both lost so much, but not today. Here and now they had each other and Arthur wished he could stop time and stay like this with this aggravating man he cared for more than he was willing to admit. They drifted off to sleep and woke up with John sprawled on Arthur’s chest.

That day changed everything, shifting Arthur’s internal compass from wanting to punch John to just wanting him. From rivalry to _something_ , and that something was staring at Arthur right now, asking him to finally do what he had tried and failed not to think about since that morning by the river when John had bit his lip and grinned down at him. Carefully, as if he was afraid to spook a wild beast, John had lowered his head and pressed his lips to Arthur’s in a simple kiss.

“Thank you for having my back, Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur had been so stunned he had no time to process what the fuck had just happened before John had gotten up, leaving him bemused and a little afraid of what this might mean. It was one thing to want something, and an entirely different animal when you actually got it.

Ever since there had been hints that this was not a one-sided development. Some small, some not so small. Like when John would make a point to touch him in whatever way he could get away with: a brush against his arm, a hand on his shoulder. Sometimes Arthur would wake up to a steaming cup of coffee next to his cot or find a new pen in his satchel. He knew it was John’s doing, especially when he had kicked Uncle until the man grumbled, “John was sneaking around your tent again if you must know.”

Yeah, Arthur knew.

But there is knowing and then there is acting on said knowledge like right now as the door gives after their bodies slam into it. The inside of the house is cool and dark. But neither of them cares beyond the fact that it offers them shelter and privacy as they start to tear each other’s clothes off. John is sucking bruises into Arthur’s neck, making him go cross-eyed as he rips John’s shirt open.

“I hope you like sewing,” John chuckles into his skin before he gives Arthur’s shirt the same treatment.

They stumble into furniture, their clothes littering the floor like breadcrumbs to heaven. There is a rug of sorts under their feet. Arthur lets himself fall backwards, pulling John with him. It’s too dark to see clearly so their hands have to do the seeing for them. Each touch revealing another scar they would have to ask questions about later, another sensitive spot that makes the other’s breath hitch only to be immediately, ruthlessly exploited.

To Arthur’s delight and John’s mortification, the inside of John’s legs are ridiculously ticklish, responding to the lightest touch and drawing a groan from the younger man when Arthur trails soft bites from the knee to his groin.

“Are you— _oh fuck!_ ”

John’s curse is loud enough to make Arthur stop. “Shhhh. You gotta keep it quiet, Marston!”

“Sorry, sorry, but you were sucking my dick! How am I— _mmmmhhhhbastarddon’tstop_ …“

Arthur would give a lot to be able to light a candle to see John’s face as he gets his brains sucked out through his cock. It must be a sight to see. Cheeks flushed. Mouth slack, lips wet and swollen from kissing, kissing _him_ of all people.

 _‘Next time,’_ Arthur promises himself, and realizes he is determined to keep what he’s won tonight. ‘ _You’re mine, John Marston.’_

“Arthur…” John moans, voice thick with wanting, wanting more of what Arthur is giving him.

John’s fingers are pulling Arthur’s hair, trying to force a rhythm and Arthur feels magnanimous enough to oblige until John’s hips start to move, thrusting into him. He gags once or twice before he lets up, kissing John’s curses about teasing bastards out of his mouth as he wraps his large hand around their cocks and starts to stroke. It gets better when John’s hand is joining him. They are close, foreheads pressed together, John’s body beneath him, coiled like a spring, close, so close.

John says something. A whisper. But Arthur cannot make out what it is because his orgasm is slamming through him, and he’s coming over their joined hands. He feels John’s body tense one final time before he relaxes. They absentmindedly wipe their hands on the rug before Arthur sinks down on top of John, his head resting on the other’s shoulder. After a while he feels John’s hand stroking his back all the way up to the nape of his neck.

“Is that… _purring_?” John chuckles, but he doesn’t stop.

“Mh-hm,” Arthur confirms with a happy wriggle.

After a few more minutes, John says, “You’re kinda heavy.”

“Deal with it,” Arthur mumbles, already half asleep. “Ouch!”

“Get off me! We gotta get going,” John points out, bringing them back to reality.

“Right.” Arthur smacks his lips and reluctantly pushes up from his comfortable human pillow. Reality sucks.

It takes them longer than is wise to get dressed because it’s too dark to see and Arthur finds out the hard way that John really has a scrawny ass when he can barely get the pants he picked up from the floor up to his thighs.

“Skinny bastard,” Arthur growls much to John’s amusement. 

A couple of minutes later they listen for voices at the door, but all they get is silence.

“Ready?” Arthur asks.

“Ready.”

Arthur opens the door and steps outside, looking left and right. It’s only a short dash to the stables around the corner. They have to suppress sniggers when they tiptoe around the two morons on lookout in the front while they slip in through a loose panel in the back.

Five minutes later they are on the road, still laughing at the undignified squeaks of the guards when they got run over from behind.

The sun is slowly rising as they make their way back to camp. The horses somehow going slower the closer they get to it until they come to a stop on a hill overlooking the valley.

“Listen,” John starts, his voice tight. “I…uhm…what we—“

“I love you.” There, that wasn’t so hard after all.

John’s head whips around. “You…do?”

Arthur nods solemnly. “Yep, I do.”

“But…what are we gonna do? I mean I love you in case you hadn’t noticed, but what are we gonna tell Dutch and Hosea?”

Arthur can’t quite keep the besotted grin off his face when he hears John say the words back. He’s half of a mind to drag the other off his horse and kiss him stupid until he remembers the question.

“Nothing.”

John’s eyebrows shoot up. “Nothing?”

“That’s right,” Arthur confirms. “It’s none of their business what’s going on between us as long as it doesn’t interfere with how things are running. I don’t see why we need to enlighten them about the fact that I wanna fuck your brains out.”

John’s eyes turn to slits and he’s giving Arthur one of those sly, sideway glances he seems to have perfected over the years.

“Was that a proposition, Mister Morgan?”

“Nah. A promise.” Arthur grins before galloping off, knowing John will be on his heels in a heartbeat. They chase across the countryside, laughing and taunting until they end up side by side in companionable silence.

A part of Arthur wonders how someone as rotten like him could be so lucky. True, John is not a good man, but neither is he and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

To think that only twenty-four hours ago he was still sad and a bit lonely, thinking he could never have the kind of happiness that is bubbling inside him every time he looks at the man he loves. The one who brings him gifts and knows how to make him smile or boiling mad like no other.

Or maybe, Arthur thinks, replaying the last few weeks in his head. Maybe he had John all along. He steals a glance at the man riding next to him and chuckles to himself. Then again, maybe it’s been John who had Arthur this whole time and he only had to reach out and take him.


End file.
